by Lynn Austin
The house of assembly was empty, the students dismissed for the day, but he heard Jeshua’s voice coming from the room that he used to meet privately with people. Zechariah stood aside, waiting for him to finish. He didn’t mean to eavesdrop but their voices were raised, and he realized that the high priest was talking to his son, Eliezer.
“I want your blessing, Abba. Why won’t you give it to me?”
“I can’t give it to you if you marry a foreign woman. You and your brothers are the next generation of priests. You’ll be the Holy One’s intermediaries after my generation is gone. But only if you remain pure.”
“What difference does it make whom I marry? All we’re doing is performing empty rituals. It’s not real worship. If God isn’t interested in what we’re doing or answering our endless prayers, why not marry whomever I want?”
“A child from a foreign wife can never worship with us. Your sons can never be priests.”
“It doesn’t matter, Abba! We’re just pretending to be priests for a God who doesn’t even care about us. I want to find a little happiness for once in my life. I’m tired of all your laws and rules—there’s no use at all in following them.”
Zechariah hurried away, embarrassed for hearing as much as he had. If Eliezer had drifted away from the Almighty One just like Yael and so many others had, it was too late to sound the alarm. Flames already engulfed the building.
Zechariah’s anger had a chance to cool as he walked home, replaced by sadness. When he entered his courtyard, his grandmother and the other women bustled around, finishing the preparations for the evening meal. He hardly knew where to stand so he wouldn’t be in their way. The simple rooms that he had helped build when they’d first arrived had doubled and then tripled in size. More rooms had been added for Besai and his wife, Rachel, and their growing family, for Tikvah and her children, and for Yael and Hodaya. As the years passed, they had plastered over the building stones, inside and out; added a sturdy roof with steps up to the top, like they’d had in Babylon. They had expanded the outdoor courtyard where they lived and worked to include a larger hearth, an oven, and two more cisterns to capture rainwater.
“Where’s Yael?” he asked Hodaya. The girl was a constant shadow at Yael’s side and looked lost without her.
“She’s visiting her friend in the village. They’re having a festival.”
He stifled a groan, remembering the pagan festival he’d attended ten years ago. Yael would eat forbidden things, watch the men worship on the high places, and be drawn even further away from the Holy One. She was already lost to him.
“Zaki! There you are,” Safta said, pulling him aside. “Your grandfather is upset. Please, go see if you can talk to him.”
“Where is he?”
She gestured to the roof. “Up there. I’ll join you in a minute.”
Zechariah would have known something was wrong with Saba even if his grandmother hadn’t told him. Saba stood near the parapet on the eastern side of the roof, looking out at the darkening sky above the Mount of Olives, the worry lines etched deeply into his face. “What’s wrong, Saba?”
“The Almighty One is testing us—and we’re failing the test.”
Zechariah had heard this refrain for ten years now. “Is there some new test I’m not aware of?” he asked.
“I may as well tell you. You’ll hear about it soon enough. The high priest’s son, Eliezer, has decided to marry a local woman. He was one of my Torah students back in Babylon. I’ve tried to change his mind, but he won’t listen to me.”
“I know. I overheard Eliezer talking to his father. He wouldn’t listen to Jeshua, either.”
“I’ve begged him to consider what he’s doing to the priesthood—and to our people. We’re such a tiny remnant as it is, and we’ll disappear entirely if we intermarry with Gentiles. We only have four priestly family lines left, and we’ll need every eligible man to serve once the temple is finished.”
If it ever is finished. Zechariah didn’t have the heart to say the words out loud and discourage Saba even further. The sky clouded over again, adding to the darkness and gloom. “Did Eliezer say when he wants to get married?” Zechariah asked.
Before Saba could reply, Safta joined them, breathless from climbing the stairs. “I came to tell you that dinner is ready. . . . And who did you say is getting married?”
“The high priest’s son, Eliezer. He—”
“That’s wonderful! Do I know the bride, Iddo?”
“No. She isn’t one of our women. She’s a Samaritan.”
“Oh. No wonder you’re upset.” She turned to Zechariah as if desperate for him to do something about it. When he didn’t, she resorted to one of her own familiar refrains. “Speaking of marriage, don’t you think it’s time for Zaki to find a good wife? He’s already older than we were when we married.”
Zaki wrapped his arm around her shoulder. “I’m waiting to meet a wife who is as perfect as you, Safta. I haven’t found one yet.”
“Why do you resist all my efforts?” she asked. “There are so many lovely young women in our community.”
“And yet the high priest’s son went looking outside our community,” Saba said gloomily.
Safta gave him a worried glance before turning back to Zechariah. “Don’t you want to get married and have children, Zaki? A good priest should be married, you know. You’ll be ordained in just a few more years.”
Several of the women Safta had found for him had been attractive, but none as beautiful as Yael. They shared a lifelong friendship and countless memories—but he could never marry her. A priest of God could never marry a sorceress. He couldn’t explain this to his grandmother, especially with Saba feeling so discouraged, so he decided to make light of the subject. “When you find me someone as beautiful as you are, Safta, then I’ll marry her.”
She frowned at him. “There are other qualities to consider besides beauty. ‘Charm is deceptive, and beauty is fleeting—’”
“‘—but a woman who fears the Lord is to be praised.’ I know what the proverb says, Safta. But can you find me a woman who can cook as well as the women in our house? I’m used to good food, you know.”
“Why can’t you take me seriously, Zaki?”
“Why pick on me? What about Yael? She’s well past the age that most girls marry.”
“I know. Can’t you help me with her, Zaki? Invite some of the young men you know to come home and meet her. Or invite this Eliezer, the high priest’s son, to meet her. If he saw how beautiful she is, he wouldn’t be looking at foreign women.”
“It’s too late,” Saba said, shaking his head. “Eliezer is determined to marry the Samaritan.”
Zechariah had raised the topic of Yael to deflect attention from himself, and now he was sorry. He searched for a way out. “We all love Yael, Safta, but we also know that she’s too independent to settle down and be a good wife. You see how she flits from our house to Mattaniah’s house in the valley and then to her friend Leyla’s house. Can you picture her staying home and cooking for a husband and children all day? Hodaya is only ten years old, and she’s already a better cook than Yael.”
“I know,” Safta said with a sigh. “I suppose it’s my fault for not controlling her when she was young.”
“How can you control the wind?” Zechariah asked. “When she finally decides to settle down, believe me, Safta, the men will line up to marry her.” But he recognized the jealous longing in his heart whenever he thought about Yael with another man. And as he went downstairs to dinner, he worried that Yael sat inside that burning building at this very moment. And it was probably too late to save her.
Chapter
30
Yael knelt in her room combing her hair and plaiting it into a long braid. The spring rain clouds had blown away during the night and the sun shone brightly this morning, making Yael eager to get out of the stuffy house. Abba said to meet him below the steps to the temple mount right after the morning sacrifice.
She h
eard the familiar thump and scrape of a crutch on the cobblestones as Hodaya came to stand in the doorway. “Are you going to see your friend Leyla today?” she asked.
“Yes, I am. It’s been much too long since I’ve visited her.”
“May I go with you?”
Yael searched for a kind way to refuse as she stood and went to Hodaya. “It’s too far to walk, little one,” she said, smoothing Hodaya’s dark curls away from her face. “You would be exhausted before we were even halfway there.”
“We could borrow your father’s donkey . . . I could ride.”
“That old donkey is too stubborn and grumpy to ride. He might get it into his head to throw you off, and I don’t ever want anything bad to happen to you.” She gave Hodaya a hug and felt her slender arms wrap around her in return.
Hodaya had grown into a strong, happy ten-year-old who walked with her crutch nearly as well as Yael walked on two good feet. Her laughter and bright smile made everyone in the community love her. But Yael could never take her adopted sister back to the village where she was born. Leyla’s family would know who she was the moment they saw her, not only because of her crippled foot, but because of her strong resemblance to her half sister Leyla and half brother Rafi. They all had the same thick curly hair and large dark eyes. Hodaya might see the resemblance herself, and Yael didn’t want her to learn the truth about her birth. She belonged to this family now.
“Hodaya?” Safta called. “Where are you? I need your help.”
“Why doesn’t Yael ever help?” she asked as she turned to limp away. “How come she gets to run all over?”
Yael didn’t wait to hear Safta’s explanation. She tousled Hodaya’s hair as she hurried past her saying, “See you later, little one.”
Abba talked on and on about his barley crop as they walked to the Samaritan village together, describing how the plentiful spring rains had made it flourish. Yael listened patiently, smiling to herself, knowing how much her father loved his land. It had prospered under his hands these past ten years, and the land easily fed their extended family with enough food left over to sell.
Yael’s father sat down with Zabad and the elders at the entrance to the village when they arrived, but Yael couldn’t look at Zabad, hating him for ordering his infant daughter to be put to death. She hurried into the village as he and Abba talked, but her progress was soon slowed by the abundance of greetings from all the women and children who gathered around her. Yael’s stature as a respected seer was well established, and people from other local villages now sought her advice, as well.
When she finally reached Leyla’s house a few minutes later, she found her friend propped up in bed, looking pale and weak. But her face lit up with happiness the moment she saw her. “Yael! I have wonderful news! And now I have my best friend to share it with.”
Yael smiled as she walked to Leyla’s bedside. They’d been best friends for more than ten years. “Tell me your wonderful news.”
“I’m betrothed! I’m going to be married!” Yael could only stare in disbelief as her friend chattered on. “Abba made all the arrangements and settled on my dowry, and now I’m officially betrothed to my new husband.”
“Who is he? Have I ever met him?” Foolish questions. The women in Leyla’s village never socialized with the men. The fact that her brother Rafi sometimes came into Leyla’s room to visit with her was highly unusual. Yael searched for something to say to disguise her shock and surprise. “Is he young and handsome?”
Leyla laughed. “If you mean as young and handsome as Rafi—no. But that doesn’t matter. My husband is nearly as rich as Abba, and our marriage will seal their business partnership. I was lucky that Basam accepted me since I’m past the age when most women in my village marry.”
“I see.” Yael tried to smile and be happy for her friend, but she wasn’t. How could her father use beloved Leyla to seal a business deal, in spite of her poor health? Yet Leyla seemed to think this was fine. At least her father hadn’t married her off years earlier when she was barely grown.
“Promise me you’ll come to my wedding, Yael. I want you to be my attendant.”
“Of course I’ll come. I would be honored.” She was about to sit down beside the bed when the door opened and Rafi strode into the room.
“Leyla, I—” He stopped short in surprise. “Well, hello, Yael. I didn’t realize you were here. Did my sister tell you her good news?” His smile made Yael’s heart beat a little faster. She still thought of him as Leyla’s brother and as a friend, the same way she thought of Zechariah as her friend. But Leyla was right; he had grown into a very handsome man. He wore his dark, loosely curled hair longer than Jewish men did and his dark beard was a little longer, too, framing his magnificent smile.
“Yes, we were just talking about it,” Yael said. “I’m so happy for her.”
“What I don’t understand,” he said, stroking his beard, “is why a beautiful woman like you isn’t betrothed yet? Doesn’t your father know he could ask a king’s ransom for your dowry? Or is that the problem? Are the Jews in your community too stingy to pay what you’re worth?” There was something about the way he looked at her today that seemed different—or was she imagining it?
“Believe me, Safta Dinah has tried to marry me off several times. She promised my mother she would find me a good husband but I told Abba that I don’t want to get married yet.”
Rafi’s brows lifted. “Really? The fathers in our village would never allow our daughters to boss us around and tell us what to do.”
The insult stung. She lifted her chin. “Besides, I’m too busy to think about a husband.”
“Is it your work as a seer that keeps you so busy?”
“That’s part of the reason. I’m also learning to be a midwife.”
He grinned. “Ah, now I see what has you frightened of marriage—watching babies being born.”
“Not at all!” His teasing made her heart race. She couldn’t tell if it was annoyance or something else. She planted her hands on her hips and decided to tease him back. “And by the way, why aren’t you married, Rafi?”
“I haven’t met anyone I want, yet.”
“Oh, so you get to choose who you’ll marry and Leyla doesn’t?”
“Of course. She’s a woman, and I’m a man. That’s the way God created it to be. The Torah clearly says that the husband shall rule over his wife.”
“The Torah?” She would have to ask Zaki about that when she got home. He studied the Torah all the time. But somehow it didn’t seem fair to be ruled over. “Are the men in your village ever allowed to marry for love?” she asked.
“We marry for a variety of reasons. Love is sometimes one of them.” The way he looked at her was disconcerting, his dark eyes fixed on her as if memorizing her face. She needed to change the subject.
“Have you met Leyla’s husband? Is he a good man? Worthy of my dear friend?” She had seen Rafi’s love for his sister over the years, and knew how tender and protective he was. She had often wondered if he would have protected his other sister, Hodaya, if he had known about her. She couldn’t imagine either Rafi or Leyla letting their baby sister die.
“I don’t know Leyla’s husband very well,” Rafi said, turning away. “He’s from another village. I should go. I’m keeping you ladies from your wedding plans.”
“No, you’re not,” Leyla said. “Can’t you stay?”
“Not today.”
Leyla looked up at Yael and gave a sigh after he was gone. “I’ve always wished that you and Rafi would get married. Then we really would be sisters.”
Yael couldn’t speak. Why did the idea make her feel so funny inside?
“I’ve been waiting for you to come so you could read my stars,” Leyla rattled on. “I need to find the best day for my wedding.”
“Yes, of course.” Yael fetched her charts from the little trunk at the foot of Leyla’s bed and spread them out to get a look at Leyla’s future. Zaki had warned her of the consequences if s
he got caught with her scrolls in Jerusalem, and so she kept them at Leyla’s house most of the time. What she read in Leyla’s stars today surprised her.
“I see so much happiness! It’s . . . it’s almost overwhelming! The moon, the stars, all of the heavenly bodies—they all line up to give favor and blessing. You will have a prosperous new life, Leyla, and many, many sons.” Leyla’s grandmother joined them and they bent over the charts together, choosing a favorable date for the wedding two months from now.
“There! It’s settled,” Leyla said happily when they were alone again.
“I still can’t believe that you, my dear friend, will soon be married. Tell me more about your husband.”
“I barely know him,” Leyla said with a laugh. “His name is Basam. He already has one wife but she has only given him daughters. When I give him a son, he will be Basam’s heir, and I’ll become his primary wife. In time, we may even grow to love each other.”
Yael couldn’t imagine being married to a man she didn’t know or love. The Jewish couples she knew all loved each other—her father and mother had. Iddo loved Dinah, Besai loved Rachel. She didn’t know what to say to her friend without revealing her doubt—or her fear. “So, you don’t mind that your father chose Basam for you?”
“Not at all. Rafi is right, you know. Women should never choose for themselves. Our fathers and husbands know what’s best for us. They’re wiser about these matters, so it’s good that they should decide. We’re wise to obey them.” Sweet Leyla was so compliant and easy to lead—and so different from Yael. “You know what’s the best part of all?” Leyla asked. “I’ll have babies! I’ve always wanted to have lots of babies.”
“Oh, Leyla . . .”
“What’s wrong?”
Yael couldn’t reply. She knew from helping Safta Dinah deliver babies that labor and delivery exhausted healthy women, much less one as fragile as Leyla. She also knew how much blood women sometimes lost. Leyla should never get pregnant, never have babies. Yael searched for something to say. “I’m going to give you my moon goddess for a wedding present. She’ll bring you good luck and keep you strong and safe in childbirth.”